


can’t see in this stormy weather (can’t seem to keep it all together)

by softeldritch



Series: prompt fills [8]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Established Relationship, M/M, Violence, Winnipeg Jets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softeldritch/pseuds/softeldritch
Summary: A long, tense moment stretches between them. Then Patrik’s mouth twitches.“Why are you lying to me?”
Relationships: Nikolaj Ehlers/Patrik Laine
Series: prompt fills [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1441615
Comments: 15
Kudos: 105





	can’t see in this stormy weather (can’t seem to keep it all together)

**Author's Note:**

> prompted on [tumblr](INSERT):  
25\. The smell of ozone during a storm  
37\. The tender ache when you press against bruises
> 
> i’ve actually had this idea (and this prompt OOPS) for months but now………..i’m finally writing it.
> 
> (title from _head above water_ by avril lavigne)

There are heavy storm clouds threatening to break open the sky when, at four in the morning, Nikolaj finally stumbles back into the deserted alley where he stashed his bag. After making sure nobody can see him he tugs off his mask and the rest of his costume and stuffs it into his backpack, shivering in the dark as he pulls on a pair of sweats and an oversized sweatshirt of Patrik’s. 

With another quick glance to make sure nobody’s around, he pulls the collar of the sweatshirt up and breathes in, smelling Patrik’s cologne and the faint hint of his sweat. The tension leaks out of his shoulders.

“Thanks,” he says, muffled into the fabric, cheeks burning despite the cold air. He doesn’t really know why he’s saying it when Patrik’s not there to hear it. 

Nikolaj takes one more second to make sure his suit’s packed up properly and hidden. Then he slings his bag over his shoulder, and heads back out into the flickering light of the streetlamps.

It’s dark. It’s cold. His fingers are numb, and his ribs are aching from getting kicked around by the villain of the week. At least superspeed comes with superfast healing, because Nikolaj doesn’t want to go to a hospital. That’d just bring a lot of really uncomfortable questions.

Nikolaj hunches his shoulders, wincing at the tug on his bruised (maybe cracked) ribs. It’s a short walk back to the apartment from here.

Of course, in the ten minutes it takes to walk home, it starts pouring. By the time Nikolaj’s sprinting into the lobby of the building he’s completely soaked through, hair clinging to his temples and the nape of his neck, clothes waterlogged and dragging him down. 

He takes the stairs, because the elevator doesn’t work, and his thighs ache the entire twelve flights up. It takes a second to unlock the door—his fingers are still freezing and he keeps fumbling with the key—and then Nikolaj finally steps into the apartment, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief as he drops his bag carefully next to the door.

He closes the door as silently as possible. Patrik’s got an early class tomorrow.

The apartment lights are all off, the way they were when Nikolaj left five hours ago; it’s a struggle not to bump into anything in the dark as he heads to the bathroom. 

Nikolaj closes the door behind him, strips off his clothes and stuffs them in the bottom of the hamper where Patrik won’t see them. As he’s straightening he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and even in the dark he can see how fucked up he is. His torso is a mess of dark bruises, and he’s got the beginnings of a black eye.

Or, well. Probably the ending of a black eye, if it’s fading as fast as it seems. Nikolaj remembers getting hit by that stupid mech thing pretty well, and there’s no way his face looks as bad as it should after a hit like _ that_.

Whatever. It’ll be gone by morning, at least.

Patrik’s still asleep when Nikolaj climbs into the warm cocoon of their bed. He shifts, murmuring sleepy noises into his pillow, and Nikolaj hides a grin in the covers and crowds up against Patrik’s back. Patrik grumbles, probably at the chill of Nikolaj’s clammy skin, but he doesn’t wake up, and he sighs when Nikolaj wraps an arm around his waist.

Nikolaj breathes in deep, nose buried in Patrik’s hair. Then he falls asleep on the exhale.

Two hours later, Patrik’s alarm wakes him up again.

It’s shrill, echoing in Nikolaj’s head like a particularly loud and annoying heartbeat. He nuzzles against the nape of Patrik’s neck, shuffling even closer like that’ll somehow help him fall back asleep again.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t.

“_Fuck_,” Nikolaj croaks. “Babe. Alarm.”

Patrik groans. “You get it.”

“S’your fuckin’ alarm.”

Patrik shifts, rolling away from Nikolaj’s arm—Nikolaj’s too tired to be ashamed at how he whines and tries to pull him back—and then the alarm’s off and the only thing ringing in Nikolaj’s skull is a nasty headache. Nikolaj curls into the sheets when Patrik slips out of bed, shuffling until he’s in the warmth Patrik’s body left behind, rubbing his face against a pillow that still smells like Patrik’s skin. With his eyes closed and his mind half-asleep, he can almost pretend it’s Patrik he’s resting on.

“Cute,” Patrik mumbles with a laugh. Warm fingertips brush against Nikolaj’s forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Then Patrik’s fingers go still, and draw back. “Where’d you go last night?” His voice sounds weird and echoey, but maybe Nikolaj still has a concussion. “I heard you leave.”

Nikolaj’s throat tightens. He swallows. “Studying,” he manages after a second. “Didn’t wanna bother you.” That’s actually kinda true. He spent about an hour at some local diner before heading out and taking to the streets as Hummingbird, because his Master’s degree isn’t gonna complete itself.

Honestly, though, if he just said, “I fucked around in a lab working on particle acceleration and gave myself superspeed,” they’d probably give him a PhD right there.

Patrik makes a tiny humming noise. His fingers brush over Nikolaj’s hair again, soft and gentle. “Dinner tonight?” His hand, big and warm, curls around the back of Nikolaj’s skull, fingers weaving into his hair. “Six?”

Dinner. With school and work and Nikolaj’s extracurriculars . . . it’s been a while. “Yeah,” Nikolaj murmurs. “Dinner.” He’s too tired to open his eyes, but he imagines Patrik’s soft, crooked grin and the way his eyes always go so fond.

“Cool,” Patrik says softly, his accent thick with sleep, his smile obvious in his voice. “Love you.”

Nikolaj smiles. His fingers curl in the bedsheets; he wishes he was holding Patrik’s hand. “Love you too.”

He listens to Patrik getting ready, too tired even to drag his eyes open and ogle as he stumbles around shirtless. Then Patrik leaves the room, the floor creaking under his weight, and a few seconds later Nikolaj hears the hum of the shower turning on. 

Part of him’s almost tempted to climb out of bed and into the shower, make Patrik late for class, but. It’s the climbing out of bed part he’s reluctant about.

So Nikolaj just burrows further under the covers, and falls asleep again before Patrik’s even finished his shower.

* * *

“I kinda assumed you were gonna take me out,” Nikolaj says, leaning against the kitchen counter, swirling a glass of wine as he watches the way Patrik’s shoulders shift under the fabric of his shirt. “Y’know, when you said dinner.” His eyes drift, down from Patrik’s back muscles to his ass. He takes a long sip of wine. It’s good shit, something Patrik picked up on his way home from class. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Eating out’s expensive,” Patrik says, tossing a crooked grin over his shoulder before getting back to preparing dinner. “This is easier.”

Nikolaj pushes away from the counter, sidling up against Patrik’s back. He leans up onto his toes to peer over Patrik’s shoulders at the pasta sauce he’s stirring. “You used to spoil me way more,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to Patrik’s skin, just above the collar of his shirt. “Not trying to impress me anymore, huh?”

Patrik’s laugh shakes through him. “Why should I?” He reaches back and pinches Nikolaj’s side. “You’re easy.”

Warmth flushes up Nikolaj’s cheeks. He doesn’t bother arguing, just tucks his face against Patrik’s shoulder and closes his eyes, soaking in his body heat.

Honestly, Nikolaj doesn’t remember when their last date night was. Weeks ago, probably. Most of that is . . . probably his fault. When he’s not spending his evenings working on his thesis or dealing with everything from petty crime to literal, actual supervillains—well, he’s exhausted, and that usually doesn’t leave much energy for anything more romantic than lazy sex and watching movies in bed on Patrik’s laptop.

Which is like. Still good. But it’d be nice to actually _ date _ again.

After a while of standing in comfortable silence, plastered against Patrik’s back, Nikolaj gets restless. And hungry. He nuzzles into Patrik’s shirt, digging his fingers into Patrik’s belly. “Almost ready?”

“Um . . .” Patrik pauses, shoulder blades stilling under Nikolaj’s cheek. “Two minutes?” He’s silent for another second. “Nik, you gotta let me go, I have to drain the pasta.”

Patrik’s warm, and for a second Nikolaj considers just holding onto him anyway. But he’s _ really _ hungry—fast metabolism will do that—and if he’s right about how this date night is going there’ll be plenty of opportunity later to appreciate how _ warm _ Patrik is. So he steps away, leaning against the counter again, watching silently as Patrik finishes everything up.

They settle on the couch with a movie playing, legs tangled together on the middle cushion. Nikolaj shovels down about half of his plate before remembering to grin up at Patrik with a, “good food, babe.” Patrik rolls his eyes, but he shifts his shoulders, that weirdly pleased expression on his face he always gets when Nikolaj likes something he’s made.

Nikolaj finishes eating first. He downs his second wine glass and waits impatiently for Patrik to finish up and set his plate aside; then he crawls over the couch and into Patrik’s lap. “Thanks for the food,” he says, before kissing the smug grin off Patrik’s face.

The kiss tastes like wine. Nikolaj chases that flavour, squirming when Patrik’s hands frame his waist and pull him even closer.

“Niky,” Patrik mumbles against his mouth. Nikolaj nips at him before kissing a trail across his jaw. “I wanted—”

Nikolaj’s phone chimes.

Fuck. “Work,” Nikolaj says, because that shrill text tone only means one thing. He kisses Patrik’s jaw, then pushes up and onto his knees. Patrik’s staring up at him, his eyes dark, his mouth pressed into an impatient line. Nikolaj almost just falls back into it, but—

Work isn’t really something that can be ignored.

His body chills as soon as he’s climbed off the couch, a shiver running down his spine as he feels Patrik staring at him. He fishes his phone off the coffee table and unlocks it, reading through the messages.

_ adam: big situation happening tonight. B wants you here _

_ adam: big B. not my B. _

_ adam: whatever you get it _

Nikolaj scowls. Whatever Blake wants him for, it’ll have to wait. He hasn’t had a date night in weeks, and Patrik already seems pissed about the fact that he had to answer the texts, and he really _ does _ want to get laid tonight. 

Sex is always better after being wined and dined. Sue him.

_ nikolaj: busy _

_ nikolaj: can’t tonight _

He’s expecting that to be the end of it, but his phone buzzes again before he’s even locked it.

_ adam: lmao tough? B says you gotta _

_ adam: he says if you dont come then youre in trouble _

_ adam: oh and dress discreet. Bs words not mine _

Nikolaj stares at his phone, barely feeling the buzz as a final text comes through: encoded coordinates. He licks his lips, still tasting the wine, still tasting the warmth of Patrik’s mouth. His chest feels tight. He . . . can’t just say _ no _ to Blake. Not after everything Blake’s done for him, not when Blake only calls everyone in for good reasons. 

“Are you serious?”

Nikolaj whips his head around so fast his neck cracks, to see Patrik sitting up on the couch staring at him. His eyes are narrowed, his mouth curled down. There’s something softer there, too, something dangerously close to hurt lingering around the corners of his frown.

He swallows, the words almost catching in his throat. “Patrik—”

“Don’t.” Patrik huffs, eyes flicking away from Nikolaj, arms crossed over his chest as he collapses back onto the couch. “Just . . . whatever. They need you.”

A lot more than Patrik knows, but . . . that doesn’t really help.

He throws on his coat and a pair of shoes silently. When he slips his backpack on Patrik’s still not looking at him, just glaring at their empty dishes stacked on the coffee table. Fuck. Nikolaj hates leaving like this.

He hates that this is far from the first time it’s happened.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’ll make it up. I promise.”

Patrik doesn’t say anything.

Nikolaj’s eyes prickle. He blinks, maybe a little too fast. “I love you.”

Patrik’s quiet. Then his eyes finally meet Nikolaj’s, so brilliantly blue they’re hard to look at. “Love you too,” he says. He still sounds pissed, but he said it back, and that helps dislodge the sudden lump in Nikolaj’s throat.

At least, as fucked up and crazy as his life’s gotten in the last few months, he’s always got Patrik.

* * *

_ You sure you’re good to go home? _ Kyle’s voice echoes in his head. He’s watching Nikolaj curiously, head cocked to one side as he floats half a foot off the ground, apparently having given up on acting especially human. Nikolaj can’t really blame him; they only just got back to Blake’s safehouse after a complete disaster of a stealth mission, and it probably takes energy pretending not to be . . . whatever Kyle actually is. _ You look like shit, dude_.

Nikolaj shrugs. _ I’m fine_. Sure, he got thrown around a lot, and the supervillain of the week grabbed him by the throat and wiggled him like a ragdoll, and he’s probably got a few bruised ribs, but. He’s had worse. At least he doesn’t have to run home; Blake’s jet takes care of the travel.

Kyle raises an eyebrow. _ You know I heard all that_.

Nikolaj scowls, scrunching up his face as he tries to picture himself punching Kyle in the arm as vividly as possible. _ Get out of my head, then_.

_ Nah. Don’t feel like talking_.

“Well I don’t feel like letting you just go through my head.”

Kyle sighs, loud and dramatic, echoing in Nikolaj’s head. But the presence of his mind retreats, and he floats over into the seat next to Nikolaj to bump their shoulders together. “Too late. I’ve seen everything. Even things I _ really _ didn’t want to see.” He pinches the skintight black fabric of Nikolaj’s suit, tugging it away from his arm. “Like, I still can’t believe even your stealth variant is a hummingbird. You’re so whipped.”

Nikolaj flushes. “Shut up. My _ name _ is Hummingbird, no shit.”

“Yeah, because your boyfriend studies hummingbirds.”

The back of Nikolaj’s neck burns. He burrows further in the seat, staring stubbornly at the storm outside the tinted black windows of the jet. “Stop looking at _ that _ stuff.”

“I can’t help it, man.” Kyle bumps their arms again. “Like I said, I’ve seen _ everything_.”

That’s a pretty horrifying thought.

The jet drops Nikolaj down just outside the city, only about a few minutes running at a pretty decent speed. Nikolaj makes it to his alley without incident and peels himself out of his suit, shivering in the cold as rain slicks his skin. He slips back into his clothes and sprints back to the apartment at a much more human speed—doesn’t really matter in the end, because he’s still soaked through and shivering, chilled all the way down to his bones. The shitty heating of the apartment lobby doesn’t really help.

He tracks water all the way up the stairs and down the hall to his and Patrik’s apartment. His fingers fumble for the keys, numb from the cold. Finally he manages to unlock the door and stumble inside—

And Patrik’s sitting on the couch, staring up at him with the TV playing quietly in the background.

“Uh,” Nikolaj says, heart jumping up into his throat. “Patrik.”

Patrik glances at the clock. Nikolaj follows his gaze. Almost 3 AM.

“You—you didn’t have to wait,” Nikolaj stammers. “Aren’t you tired?”

Patrik shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.” He pushes up off the couch, standing to his full height. His gait is slow and lazy as he makes his way over and suddenly Nikolaj feels very small. He kind of just wants to collapse against Patrik and—and pass out, maybe, or maybe cry. His ribs really fucking hurt every time he breathes, even though they’re already healing. 

“Sorry,” Nikolaj croaks. Patrik’s close enough to touch, now, but Nikolaj’s arms are too heavy to lift. “C’mon, we should go to . . .”

He trails off, noticing the growing horror on Patrik’s face.

“Niky?” Patrik brushes a hand over his cheek, and Nikolaj’s skin stings. Fuck, he forgot about the bruises on his face. Patrik’s fingertips trail down his jaw, down the slope of his throat—and he’s probably bruised _ there_, too. “What happened?” Patrik’s eyes are bright and furious, his jaw set tightly. “Who did this to you?”

Nikolaj shakes his head. “It’s nothing—these’ll probably be gone by tomorrow.”

Patrik’s hands curl around his shoulders so tight it’s almost painful. He leans down, and Nikolaj’s heartbeat skips. “Who did this?”

“It was just, uh.” Nikolaj swallows. Having Patrik so close, looking so furious—it’s making his head go a little fuzzy. “Just an accident. At work. You know.”

The grip on his shoulders tightens. Patrik’s brow furrows. Then his bright, fiery anger cools visibly—his jaw settles, and his eyes dim, and his hands drop from Nikolaj’s shoulders. He takes a step back and Nikolaj feels the sudden distance like a magnetic pull, almost swaying into the space Patrik left behind. It’s only the cold, bitter look in Patrik’s eyes that keeps him standing upright.

A long, tense moment stretches between them. Then Patrik’s mouth twitches. 

“Why are you lying to me?”

Fuck. “Patty—”

“Shut up.” It’s so sharp that Nikolaj’s mouth snaps shut immediately. His heart clenches, tears stinging behind his eyes. Patrik’s not looking at him anymore. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Go have a shower.” He turns away, giving Nikolaj room to walk past him, and Nikolaj—

Nikolaj doesn’t really know what else to do.

The shower is almost blisteringly hot. Nikolaj stays under the water longer than he needs to, relishing the aching massage of the water against his injuries. Eventually he steps out and inspects himself in the mirror; the worst of the bruising is already starting to fade, but he can still see the bruises around his throat. Those . . . definitely look like fingerprints.

Patrik ducks into the bathroom while Nikolaj’s checking himself out. Nikolaj spins, hands hovering awkwardly near his chest, not quite covering the splash of bruises around his ribs.

Patrik’s eyes slip down. His frown twists deeper.

“Here,” he says, shoving a fluffy blue bathrobe in Nikolaj’s direction. _ Patrik’s _ bathrobe. Nikolaj tugs it on, some tiny part of him going warm at wearing Patrik’s clothes. It’s soft, and smells like Patrik’s bodywash, and Nikolaj’s so tired he can’t be bothered hiding it as he brings the collar up around his mouth and breathes it in. Patrik’s face softens. “I made you tea,” he says, before slipping out of the bathroom.

Nikolaj hears the mattress creak as he climbs back into bed. A few seconds later he heads into the kitchen and slowly drinks the steaming mug of tea Patrik left for him, eyes drifting shut in exhaustion.

When he finally slips into bed, Patrik rolls him onto his side and crowds up against his back. His breath is warm against the back of Nikolaj’s neck, his arm a heavy, solid weight around Nikolaj’s waist. Nikolaj wiggles back against him, tangling their legs together, anchoring Patrik’s arm in place and threading his fingers over Patrik’s.

He doesn’t think about the hurt in Patrik’s eyes, when he’d left earlier and when he’d lied to his face. They can talk about it later.

* * *

Patrik fucks him differently than he used to.

At first, Nikolaj doesn’t really notice the change. They’ve always had a lot of sex, in a lot of different ways, and it’s not like it’s some huge, drastic difference. Sometimes he holds Nikolaj down, makes him work for it. Sometimes he’s gentle, and he holds Nikolaj so tightly he can barely breathe, staying almost entirely silent. But Patrik isn’t playful anymore, isn’t sweet.

Now, when Patrik fucks him, it’s slow and careful and absolutely devastating.

That’s not the only thing that’s changed.

Patrik’s always kissed him goodbye, but now he makes it linger, until Nikolaj’s breathless and clinging to his shoulders. And sometimes, if Nikolaj’s come home late and bruised recently—it took him a while to notice the pattern, but it _ is _ a pattern—Patrik wraps him up in a hug and buries his face in Nikolaj’s neck and just holds him. He never lets go until Nikolaj reminds him.

Their relationship doesn’t really feel as easy as it used to. More than anything Nikolaj wishes he knew how to fix it, but also . . . he doesn’t wanna talk about it. Talking about it makes it real.

Maybe Patrik doesn’t have those same reservations, though, because one day when he comes home from classes he sits across from Nikolaj at the kitchen table and curls his hand around the top of Nikolaj’s laptop. “Hey,” Patrik says, staring at Nikolaj with an indiscernible expression, “can we talk?”

_ Can we talk_. Nikolaj swallows, slowly closing his laptop, carefully avoiding touching Patrik’s hand. “Yeah?”

Patrik pulls his hand back. The silence stretches between them.

“I think you should quit your job,” Patrik says, sharp enough that Nikolaj almost flinches.

That’s definitely not what he was expecting. “What? Why?” He shakes his head, blindsided by the hard look in Patrik’s eyes. “Patty, I _ like _ my job—“

“You know you’re barely sleeping, right?” Patrik’s eyes narrow, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “And they’re always calling you in, even when you should be free—you don’t _ have _ to go in.”

Nikolaj feels like he’s being pinned to his chair. “Yeah, I do.”

“You don’t!” Patrik’s hands curl into fists on the tabletop. “You can get a job somewhere else. So you’re not always coming home with—“ His mouth snaps shut, glare sharpening, and Nikolaj’s gaze drops to his lap. He’s tried to keep the bruises from Patrik, but. He’s not always successful.

“Sorry,” Nikolaj mumbles, wincing at the crack in his voice.

“Don’t apologize.” Patrik’s voice is soft. “Just—_do _ something.”

Nikolaj doesn’t know _ what _ to do. He can’t just quit his ‘job’—he can’t give up being a superhero and helping people. He can’t abandon Blake after everything Blake’s done for him. But he can’t really tell Patrik either. He can’t bring him into that kind of danger.

So he doesn’t really know what to say.

His phone chirps.

“Don’t answer.”

Nikolaj shakes his head, already halfway out of his chair. He can’t look at Patrik. “I—I have to.”

It’s a message from Blake. No conversation, no preamble, just encoded coordinates for the pickup point. Nikolaj stuffs his phone in the pocket of his sweats, heading towards his bag sitting innocuously at the door, trying to ignore the weight of Patrik’s gaze on his back. He grabs his coat and slips on his shoes, and glances back just in time to see Patrik turning his head away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice wobbly. “I’ll be back later.”

Patrik’s jaw twitches.

Nikolaj swallows around the lump in his throat, hand curled around the doorknob. He wants Patrik to _ look _ at him, at least. “Love you.”

Something dangerously close to hurt flashes across Patrik’s face. He swallows visibly, jaw tight as he stares off to the side, cheeks a blotchy red.

He doesn’t say it back.

* * *

Nikolaj doesn’t make it back home until almost 2 AM.

He stands outside the apartment building fumbling for his keys, shivering in the cold wind. The smell of ozone lingers in the air and around his hair; he’s not really sure if that’s because there’s a storm threatening overhead, or because one of the hired goons of the weapon smuggling ring he and Blake just took down had electricity powers. Either way it makes his nose twitch.

Eventually he gets inside the building. Part of him is dreading heading up to the apartment. He knows Patrik’s still gonna be pissed at him for leaving, but hopefully he looks wrecked enough that Patrik will take pity on him for a little bit. Take _ care _ of him for a little bit.

He can’t rely stay in the lobby forever, though, so he heads up the stairs and tries to ignore how badly his thighs hurt. He unlocks the apartment door with shaking hands, half from nerves and half from being so exhausted he can barely stand up.

There’s sound coming from further in the apartment, like clothes rustling. “Patty?” Nikolaj calls, dropping his bag, barely managing the coordination to kick off his shoes. “I’m home.”

No response. Nikolaj’s instincts flare up, and images flash through his head—Patrik captured, Patrik hurt, Patrik _ dead. _ He tamps down on them as he walks further into the apartment. Patrik’s fine. Patrik’s _ fine_.

Patrik’s there when he steps into the bedroom, and Nikolaj’s nerves settle.

Then he actually _ looks _ at him.

Patrik’s . . . shoving clothes into a duffle bag. His movements are uncoordinated, messy, and he hasn’t looked up at Nikolaj. But Nikolaj can still see his face; his eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks blotchy. 

Nikolaj’s heart jumps into his throat. “Patty . . . ?” 

Patrik pauses, but he doesn’t look up.

“What’s—“ Nikolaj’s voice breaks. He swallows, clenching his shaking hands into fists, nails digging painfully into his palms. “What’s going on?”

Finally, Patrik lifts his head. It’s even more obvious that he’s been crying.

Nikolaj’s only ever seen Patrik _really_ cry a few times before.

“Where were you?” Patrik asks, and his voice is unsteady, but sharp enough that it hurts. His eyes are too bright, even brighter with the red—Nikolaj’s always felt like Patrik can see right through him but it’s never made him feel so unsteady.

“Work,” Nikolaj manages.

Patrik’s jaw shifts, his lips pressing together. “You’re all bruised again,” he says quietly. He doesn’t even sound angry. Just . . . empty. Tired. “How’d that happen, Nikolaj?”

Nikolaj’s legs are shaking. “That’s—my job is confidential,” he stammers, eyes catching on the way Patrik’s grip tightens around the sweater hanging from his hand. “You don’t have clearance—“

Patrik scoffs. He turns back to his bag. “Right.” He stuffs the sweater into the bag violently, grabbing the zipper and wrenching it halfway across the bag before it sticks. “I’m done with this.” He tugs on the zipper—it doesn’t budge, and he bares his teeth, shoulders hunching up around his ears.

“Wait,” Nikolaj says. “Wait.”

Patrik gives up on the zipper and finally, _ finally _ turns to face Nikolaj. “Are you cheating on me?”

It’s a bit like being punched in the face. “What?” Nikolaj shakes his head, suddenly barely breathing. “I—I’m—no, of course not, I—“ His throat closes. He doesn’t know what else to say.

For a long, terrible moment, Patrik just stares. His hands are shaking at his sides. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Patty.” Nikolaj shakes his head again. He can’t make himself _ think_. “Patty, please.”

“Please _ what _?” Patrik’s voice sounds right on the edge of breaking, his eyes wide and furious. Nikolaj winces. Patrik must notice, because for a second his mouth twitches—but his glare doesn’t falter. “You’re just gonna lie to me some more, right?”

Nikolaj freezes. He has to tell Patrik. Keeping it a secret doesn’t fucking matter if he’s gonna lose him. Fuck, being a superhero doesn’t matter.

He opens his mouth, and the words catch in his throat.

Patrik’s glare cracks. “Fine,” he spits, and his voice cracks too. He turns back to his bag and rifles through it violently, muttering in Finnish under his breath—then he straightens, and tosses something small at Nikolaj. It’s only instinct that makes Nikolaj catch it. “Here,” Patrik says, heaving strap of the half-open bag over his shoulder, squaring up to Nikolaj again. His chin is wobbling. “It was supposed to be yours anyway.”

It’s a small, blue velvet box.

Tears well up in Nikolaj’s eyes. He can’t breathe.

Patrik pauses. Then he walks past Nikolaj with a murmured, “bye, Nik,” and all Nikolaj can do is listen to the sound of his footsteps, the rustling of his coat, the jingle of his keys being dropped on the table near the door.

The soft click of the front door closing behind him.

Silence settles over the apartment. All Nikolaj can hear is his own heartbeat.

“Patrik,” he mumbles. 

His legs almost give out. He stumbles gracelessly to the bed and collapses half on top of it, sinking to his knees because everything _ hurts _ and he can’t hold himself up anymore, one hand clutching at the sheets. The tiny velvet box is soft against the skin of his other hand, fingers curled around the rounded corners.

A sick, ugly feeling climbs the back of his throat. “Patrik,” Nikolaj says again, and the tears finally spill over his cheeks. He chokes on a sob. “Fuck—_please_—“

Of course _ now _ he’s found his voice. When there’s nobody there to hear him.

It’s pathetic, how long he stays there, curled up and sobbing at the foot of the bed. He cries until there’s nothing else coming out of him, until he feels like he might throw up but he’s too tired to even do _ that_. Then he musters up the strength to crawl into bed and curl up on Patrik’s side of the bed, face pressed into his pillow.

Curiosity makes him open the little box. “_Oh_,” he chokes, throat closing up again. 

The ring is so . . . pretty. Soft gold, with a small diamond in the centre, a couple tiny amethysts on either side. It makes Nikolaj want to cry again, because Patrik’s always said how good he looks in purple. He can see it in his head—Patrik slipping the ring onto his finger, calling him pretty with that stupid crooked grin.

Nikolaj snaps the box shut and shoves it to the other side of the bed. Too much, _ too much_.

He lays there on Patrik’s side of the bed in total silence. The front door never opens, and Patrik never comes crashing back in to say he’s not leaving, that he’ll give Nikolaj another chance. Nikolaj doesn’t really expect him to; these past few months Nikolaj’s been a really shitty boyfriend.

Three years and now all Nikolaj has to show for it is a pretty ring in a box.

* * *

The thing about being a superhero is that sometimes, you lose. Sometimes you get your ass kicked by a supervillain with an attitude and her well-trained mercs, and she gets away with some advanced proprietary tech. Sometimes you’re left bruised up on the dirty floor of the cliche warehouse where the weapons deal went down, and it’s raining outside, and the police sirens are ringing so loud it’s almost painful.

Seems like Nikolaj’s had a lot more nights like this since Patrik left.

Nikolaj’s arms are shaking when he pushes himself up, the gritty floor scraping against his knees and his elbows, stinging where his suit’s ripped open. He heaves in a breath—that’s gotta be a broken rib this time, maybe even two. Fuck, it _ hurts_.

Police in this part of town don’t really like Hummingbird doing their jobs. So he struggles to his feet, teeth gritted against the aching pain blooming out from his cracked ribs and the vicious bruise on his thigh, fingers scraping against the wall as he uses it to hold himself up. His wrist is stinging, radiating pain all the way up his forearm like _ that _ might be broken too.

He slips out of the warehouse before police can storm in and arrest him, or something. The rain outside is freezing, immediately soaking into Nikolaj’s skin wherever his suit’s torn.

Shivering, he rolls his ankles, bounces on the balls of his feet a few times. His bruised thigh is sore, and his knees ache, but otherwise his legs are good. Good enough to run home, at least.

It’s not too far, even when he’s not going top speed. But the trip seems to drag as Nikolaj runs through the streets, trying not to focus on the sharpening pain in his chest or the way his right leg is wavering under his weight. He’s rain-slick and freezing and aching in muscles he didn’t know he _ had _ by the time he gets back to the alley where he stashed his bag, fingers so numb he can barely peel off his suit.

He gets dressed a little slower than normal—turns out it’s more difficult when he can’t raise one arm above his head—then heaves his backpack up over his shoulder and heads back out into the downpour. Walking back to the apartment is a lot slower.

Now that the adrenaline of the fight’s wearing off, Nikolaj’s just starting to _ hurt_.

Climbing the stairs is torture; his lungs burn, sharp pains shooting across his ribcage with every breath in, and his thigh muscles are almost numb by the time he reaches his floor.

He manages to keep himself upright until he’s in the apartment. The second the door’s closed behind him he collapses back against him—biting off a gasp when more pain from his rib shocks through his chest. It’s so hard even standing. Nikolaj tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut as he wheezes each breath, frigid hands curling into half-formed fists at his sides.

Beyond his breathing, beyond his heartbeat, the apartment is silent.

Fuck. A sob catches in the back of his throat. It’s not like he forgot, it’s just.

He misses Patrik.

His eyes sting. He reaches up with the arm that _ doesn’t _ make his rib feel like it’s on fire, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying to rub away any tears before they fall. 

When he drops his hand, a tears leak out the corners of his closed eyes anyway. “Fuck.” His legs wobble, and he slides down the door, sweatshirt rucking up against his back as his ass lands hard on the wooden floor. It almost hurts too much to lean forward but he does anyway, curling until his forehead’s on his knees.

It’s been weeks, but he still wants Patrik so much he can’t breathe. He wants Patrik’s hands on him—careful and careless and warm. Everything just hurts so much and he wants Patrik to take care of him. Patrik was always best at that. Nikolaj’s not good at knowing his own breaking points. 

He doesn’t really realize what he’s doing until his phone is in his hands, Patrik’s contact info staring back at him from the screen. For a second Nikolaj thinks maybe he shouldn’t.

He presses call.

It rings, tinny and shrill in Nikolaj’s ears. His heart thuds in his ears. This was stupid. This was so fucking stupid.

On the fourth ring, Patrik picks up. “Hello?” His voice is hesitant, but it’s _ him_, and Nikolaj almost bursts into tears. “Nik?”

Nikolaj swallows. His mouth tastes like dust. “H-hey,” he manages, only kind of choking on it.

Patrik’s quiet. “Nikolaj?” There’s something soft and trembling in his voice, barely audible. Part of Nikolaj hates himself for putting that there—but the rest of him just can’t get over the _ relief _ of hearing Patrik’s voice again. “Why’d you call? Is everything okay?”

“I, uh . . .” His hands tremble around the phone. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I probably shouldn’t ask, but . . .” He stares at his legs; his sweats are soaked through with rain, and the scrapes on his knees and thigh are starting to stain the material a soft pink. “Can you come over?” He breathes in a little too sharply and whines from the pain. “Please, I—I need—”

“I’m coming,” Patrik says, soft but urgent. “I’ll be right there, Niky, just wait.”

He hangs up, and Nikolaj’s left alone in the silence of the apartment again.

A few minutes pass with him just sitting there, shivering in his wet clothes. Finally he manages to shift onto his knees and reach up to unlock the door. He wrestles himself out of his clothes right there on the floor, leaving them in a heap, dragging himself to his feet and stumbling over to the couch in just his underwear.

Laying on something soft kinda helps. It hurts a little less than sitting on the hardwood, at least. 

Nikolaj’s not really sure how much time has passed when he finally hears footsteps in the hall outside. That’s when he realizes he’ll be seeing Patrik for the first time in weeks, and that he’s mostly naked and looks like complete shit and Patrik . . . Patrik dumped _ him_.

Then the door opens, and Patrik steps inside, and Nikolaj just. Doesn’t care.

“Holy fuck,” Patrik says, eyes wide. He almost trips over himself trying to get through the door, stomping through the apartment still in his boots. “Niky, you’re hurt, you need to go to a hospital—” He drops to one knee next to the couch, eyes roving wildly over Nikolaj’s body, desperation all over his face.

“You came,” Nikolaj mumbles. Tears well up in his eyes again. “Patty—”

A sob climbs up his throat and cuts him off. Fuck. He’s not supposed to cry. But now that it’s started he can’t stop it; Patrik’s terrified face blurs and the broken, haphazard sobs keep coming, until Nikolaj’s choking on his tears, half curled up on the couch.

Warmth curls around his jaw. Patrik’s hand, big and solid, thumb sweeping carefully over Nikolaj’s bruised, tear-dampened cheek. “Niky,” he murmurs. “I have to call—”

“_Don’t_.” He grabs Patrik’s wrist. Maybe a little too fast, maybe a little too hard. “Don’t, don’t, just—I’m so sorry, Patty, I’m sorry.” All he wants is Patrik to just keep _ touching _ him. “I’ll be fine, I just—”

“You’re not _ fine_!” Nikolaj’s eyes flash open at how sharp Patrik’s voice is, and through the tears Patrik looks almost angry. “You’re bleeding! You’re bruised all over!”

Nikolaj shakes his head. “I’m healing.”

“No, you need a _ doctor_—”

“I’m Hummingbird.”

Patrik’s fingers tighten in his hair. “What?”

“I—I’m Hummingbird.” Nikolaj squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t face however Patrik’s looking at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—I’m sorry, I’m _ sorry_.” His breath hitches. Another sob knocks loose from his chest, and he dissolves into tears all over again. “I love you, I'm sorry—”

Lips press to his forehead, warm and dry, and Patrik’s arms wrap around his shoulders as much as possible with the couch in the way. He folds Nikolaj into his arms, half blanketing him with his body. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, low and unsteady, voice breaking. “It’s okay, Niky, I have you. I have you.” He nuzzles into Nikolaj’s damp hair. “I—I love you too. Okay? I love you, and I’m right here.”

_ Oh_.

Nikolaj clutches at Patrik’s jacket, buries his face in the collar, and cries until he can’t anymore.

It’s all a bit of a blur after that. Patrik scoops him up and carries him into the bathroom; Nikolaj gets a good look at the mottled purple and black of his bruises as Patrik gets the shower hot. They get into the shower together and Nikolaj’s mind drifts; he leans against Patrik’s chest as Patrik washes him up, hums under his breath when Patrik’s hands tangle in his hair.

Somewhere between Patrik toweling him off and Patrik tucking him into bed, he finally falls asleep.

* * *

The apartment smells like coffee when Nikolaj wakes up, sore and aching all over. His chest doesn’t feel like it’s about to crack open every time he breathes, though, so that’s at least an improvement. Rolling his wrist doesn’t hurt any more than a strain, and flexing the muscle in his thigh doesn’t ache half as much as it did yesterday.

Nikolaj rolls over. Patrik’s side of the bed is empty. For a brief, horrifying second he thinks maybe he imagined the whole thing—but the sheets are rumpled and folded back, like someone slipped out on that side.

And the apartment smells like coffee. Nikolaj hasn’t woken up to that in weeks.

His next breath is a little too shaky.

Nikolaj hears footsteps a few seconds before the door creaks open. He rolls over again, wincing at the tug on his ribs, seeing Patrik stepping through cradling a steaming mug of coffee. 

“Hey,” Patrik says quietly.

Nikolaj swallows. “Hey,” he croaks.

Patrik sets the mug on Nikolaj’s bedside table. He . . . seems a little stuck, like he’s not quite sure what to do with his body. It’s something Nikolaj’s never seen on Patrik before. It sits heavy in his gut, throat going tight as he watches Patrik’s fingers twitch awkwardly at his sides.

“C’mere,” Nikolaj says after a pause. “Please.”

Patrik blinks at him. Then he climbs over Nikolaj, the bed shifting under his weight, and tucks himself under the covers. There’s another awkward pause before he shuffles closer, ankles tangling with Nikolaj’s. His hand finds Nikolaj’s under the covers, warm and big and so familiar Nikolaj almost starts crying _ again_.

“Are you okay?” Patrik’s eyes are huge. They seem bluer than Nikolaj remembers.

Nikolaj shrugs, gritting his teeth at the dull ache across his chest. “M’fine, mostly. S’all healing.” Nerves make his throat dry and his hands shake. He grips Patrik’s fingers a little tighter. “I know we should probably, uh. Talk. But right now, I just—” Warmth flushes up his cheeks, hot discomfort swirling in the pit of his stomach. His gaze drops to Patrik’s mouth. “Can you just—hold me?”

Patrik doesn’t hesitate this time. He shuffles even closer and Nikolaj squirms into his arms, tucking his nose into the warm skin of Patrik’s neck. Arms wrap around him, gentle enough that Nikolaj barely feels the ache of all his bruises, one hand splaying wide on his lower back while the other winds into his hair.

All of Nikolaj’s tension bleeds out. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, just loud enough he knows Patrik can hear it.

“Hey. We’re talking later.” Patrik’s arms squeeze a little tighter. Now, Nikolaj’s bruises ache, but . . . it’s kinda nice. Like a reminder that Patrik’s here, holding him. “I just wanna say I’m really proud of you. You’ve been doing so much good.” 

Oh. Tears prickle behind Nikolaj’s eyes _ again _and he whimpers, clutching harder at Patrik’s shirt. “Patty . . .”

Patrik’s hand trails up his spine, bleeding warmth into his skin. He kisses Nikolaj’s hair. “You’re so _ good_, Niky,” he murmurs, as sincere as he’s ever said it. 

Nikolaj starts to cry again, but. This time he doesn’t mind.

Patrik will take care of him.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i watched young justice as a kid,
> 
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